ris, and wrote most amusing
pompous letters to his uncle about the great Farheim, Du Petit, and
Duhamel du Monceau, whose lectures he proposed to follow. If Uncle
Contarine believed those letters--if Oliver's mother believed that story
which the youth related of his going to Cork, with the purpose of
embarking for America, of his having paid his passage-money, and having
sent his kit on board; of the anonymous captain sailing away with Oliver's
valuable luggage in a nameless ship, never to return; if Uncle Contarine
and the mother at Ballymahon believed his stories, they must have been a
very simple pair; as it was a very simple rogue indeed who cheated them.
When the lad, after failing in his clerical examination, after failing in
his plan for studying the law, took leave of these projects and of his
parents, and set out for Edinburgh, he saw mother, and uncle, and lazy
Ballymahon, and green native turf, and sparkling river for the last time.
He was never to look on old Ireland more, and only in fancy revisit her.

But me not destined such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care,
Impelled, with step unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view;

That like the circle bounding earth and skies
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies:
My fortune leads to traverse realms unknown,
And find no spot of all the world my own.

I spoke in a former lecture of that high courage which enabled Fielding,
in spite of disease, remorse, and poverty, always to retain a cheerful
spirit and to keep his manly benevolence and love of truth intact, as if
these treasures had been confided to him for the public benefit, and he
was accountable to posterity for their honourable employ; and a constancy
equally happy and admirable I think was shown by Goldsmith, whose sweet
and friendly nature bloomed kindly always in the midst of a life's storm,
and rain, and bitter weather.(179) The poor fellow was never so friendless
but he could befriend some one; never so pinched and wretched but he could
give of his crust, and speak his word of compassion. If he had but his
flute left, he could give that, and make the children happy in the dreary
London court. He could give the coals in that queer coal-scuttle we read
of to his poor neighbour: he could give away his blankets in college to
the poor widow, and warm himself as he best might in the feathers: he
could pawn his c